


It's when you're not looking that you fall

by glim



Series: white city [5]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The moment I saw her, I was <i>done</i>, you know?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's when you're not looking that you fall

**Author's Note:**

> Predates the rest of the series.

"I refuse," Morgana proclaimed, before Gwen even had a chance to suggest it, "to take a course called 'Mourning and Modernity'."

"It's not as dreadful as it sounds." Leaning over her half-finished sandwich, Gwen tried to take the paper from Morgana and yielded after a minute to nibble on her turkey-avocado on wheat. "Actually, that's a really good course. I took it the last time Dr. Green offered it."

Morgana, who, after only knowing her for a week, already found Gwen incredibly easy to talk to, offered her best skeptical look in reply without fear of recrimination. "I already paid my dues to T.S. Eliot and his objective correlative during my MA program. Besides," she paused to mark an **X** next to that class, "emo modernists? No thanks."

"Hey. I'm a modernist."

"Right. But you're…" _Lovely_, she thought, but stopped the word from spilling out despite the temptation to see if it would make Gwen flush in that becoming manner she had to counter the look of mock offense on her face. "Not emo, thank god."

"No, not really, but I don't mind a bit of emo modernism now and then, though it does sort of corner the market on white male angst." Gwen reached for Morgana's list of graduate seminars again, won the struggle this time, and investigated the system of marks Morgana had left on the paper. "Right, so, huge bold X means you refuse to take it, and a check mark? Probably means you will."

"Quite."

"And… the squiggles?"

"Dubious, but possible."

"Hm." When Gwen frowned with concentration, a tiny line appeared between her eyebrows, not deep, but noticeable enough that Morgana wanted to reach over and erase it with the edge of her thumb. "Teaching Practicum and Pedagogy?"

"Required. I suppose that's dreadful, too."

"Actually?"

"Oh. Oh god, why don't I just insult all your academic interests. Can I be more awkward?"

Gwen laughed, the sound light and wonderful, and touched the edge of Morgana's hand. "It's all right. I mean, I'd rather you didn't, but… oh. Eighteenth Century Satire gets a checkmark? Now, that's dreadful. They're all so cranky."

"It'll be brilliant; we're supposed to read _Northanger Abbey_. I wonder if I can write about quixotism?"

"Cranky? Not synonymous with brilliant. Though, all right, Austen, I'll grant you some brilliance there."

And with that, with the glow in Gwen's eyes paired with the shy, serious expression on her face, Morgana wanted to start laughing, too. Not that Gwen was funny, but she was all kinds of delightful.

Her first day on campus, Morgana had met Gwen at a lunch held by the English department for new graduate students and their mentors. Gwen introduced herself to Morgana, handed Morgana a sandwich and diet Coke, and told her to eat as much of the free food as possible. Later that day, she walked down to the library and bookstore with Morgana, and Morgana decided, then and there, that even though it was the only one she'd seen thus far, the long, yellow hippie skirt, sandals, and white tank top was her favorite of Gwen's outfits.

(Later, she'd always remember Gwen this way, sunlight glinting off her hair that she'd pulled up, the tendrils at her neck damp with late summer sweat, her mouth curving into a smile that looked as if it were there just for Morgana as she held open the library door, and would feel like part of her had already fallen in love that afternoon before she'd even come close to letting herself believe she'd done so.)

Her second and third day, she'd barely seen Gwen, though they'd exchanged a few emails and had arranged to have lunch again today after the last of the university's new student orientation sessions. She'd claimed to need Gwen's help choosing classes, but, in truth, Morgana just wanted an excuse to sit with Gwen outside the tiny café a few blocks away from the university. Freshman orientation had been taking place for the past couple days and campus was full of a lot of disoriented looking eighteen year olds and, on occasion, their parents. The bookstore was a madhouse that was steadily getting worse as upper class students starting to trickle back to the university for the start of the fall semester. Here, however, only a few stray students had found their way off campus and the café Gwen had chosen for lunch was closer to a few small shops than it was to the academic buildings.

"Aren't you supposed to be my supportive mentor?"

"Aren't you supposed to be less picky? I mean, not that you're _picky_, you're just… overly discerning." The wind caught a strand of Gwen's hair and she tucked it behind her ear after a hasty, half-murmured apology. "What about the Rhetoric of the English Civil War seminar?"

"I suppose I might as well be a responsible pre-modernist and take it. Christ, that means I'll have two-thirds of my seminars with Arthur." Morgana clicked her four-color pen to green and marked the appropriate squiggle next to the listing for the seventeenth century Civil War course. That earned her a very indulgent, rather tolerant smile from Gwen, so she added 'Gwen's suggestion' next to the squiggles. "There. It'll be your fault if I end up despising it. And? I'm going to come to the Writing Center and make you brainstorm my papers with me and read all my drafts."

"Part of my responsibility as your mentor, I suppose. I hope you pick interesting essay topics."

Half of Morgana's iced green tea and most of her salad du jour had gone neglected during her conversation with Gwen. Spending the afternoon, or some part of it, at least, with Gwen made time waste too quickly and Morgana wanted to catch minutes and hours between her fingers. The semester hadn't even started yet; months and weeks of opportunities for lunch and conversation, Morgana knew that, yet she still wished to encapsulate this Friday afternoon of sunshine and anticipation to ensure she'd be able to hold onto it as long as possible.

Too soon, Gwen checked her watch and gave what Morgana liked to think was a regretful sigh. "I should get going. Somehow I've inherited the position of assistant director of the writing center. Did you have any more questions?"

"I don't think so. No, wait. Tell me, what is Gwen short for?" Morgana narrowed her eyes and watched the way Gwen glanced off to the side, lowered her eyelashes, and smiled with just the corner of her mouth. "Gwyneth?"

"No… good guess, though?"

"Hm. Gwendolyn?"

"Oh, god, no, thank goodness. " Gwen smiled a bit more fully. "Guinevere."

"Guinevere." The sun caught the tips of Gwen's eyelashes and Morgana decided she loved the way her mouth and lips felt as she said the name. And if she repeated it a few times, under her breath, or just formed the sound of it with her lips, well, then, that was a secret she'd keep to herself until she was certain she could convince herself to share it with Gwen.

*

Sometimes, Morgana felt like she almost fell into academia by mistake. Not that she didn't enjoy it – indeed she did, rather remarkably so, especially the seminar model of debate and discussion – but she was never sure she ever intended to end up an academic by profession.

Of course, sometimes she wondered if she ever intended to end up _anything_.

At a loss with what to do with herself when her father passed away the summer after she gradated from college, she ended up staying at Villa Alba University for two more years to do a master's in English. After that, for another year to do the women's studies certificate part time while she worked as an adjunct in the English department.

Two years of drifting between work at various community colleges and liberal arts institutions followed, comprised of adjunct work or assisting at women's centers, and, for one memorable semester, a position as director of residence life. She'd tried to swear off both women and recreational drinking one semester, convinced that both were responsible for her own version of the lesbian soap opera her life had become with Serious Girlfriend #3, Serious Girlfriend #3's most recent ex, and the woman from financial aid with whom they had all slept at different points in their lives.

That had been pure insanity, so of course she'd gotten back together with said girlfriend for a few weeks before deciding she'd had enough crazy for one lifetime. Morgana had already applied and been accepted to Carlisle's PhD program, where Arthur had done his master's and was in the process of doing a doctorate, and had been relieved to find herself with a set of clearly defined goals and expectations.

Plus, there was the research and the critical debate surrounding literary studies for which she had an intense love. That, if nothing else, told Morgana, all intention or lack thereof aside, falling into graduate school had been rather fortuitous for her. She'd already started to leaf through some journals for this semester's seminar papers and had it in mind to apply for next semester's grad student colloquium once she had more material to contribute.

So, yes, grad school was good, and starting to work on her doctorate was good in ways that she could've predicted, despite the ways in which doing a PhD was going to be different from a master's which she hadn't yet anticipated. She was pretty sure she'd have doctoral exam and dissertation pre-emptive anxiety if she allowed herself, though the prospect of both was just as exciting as it was daunting.

Then, there was Gwen.

Completely unexpected, adorable, funny, shy, brilliant Gwen, who helped Morgana pick out classes, drove to IKEA with her to look at bedspreads and bookshelves, and was incredibly good at putting together bookshelves with only an Allen wrench, the blob-person instructions, and a very impatient Morgana kneeling next to her. Who showed all the new grad students how to use the photocopier and who was patient enough to teach Arthur how to use it again. For the second time. In six months. Who brought Morgana a handful of tiny, purple flowers the first day of classes and who agreed when Morgana decided to get them both massive amounts of ice cream for lunch at the end of that first, exhausting week of the semester. Who had about a million interesting essays and group work ideas for freshman writing courses, half of them on yellow post-it notes stuck all over her desk, and who really didn't seem to mind helping out any of the new TAs with their syllabi and assignments. And who had easily adopted Morgana's suggestion that she paint one of the walls in her office yellow (or blue, or, possibly, green?) and had enlisted Morgana's help in doing so before Morgana even realized she'd agreed. Who went quietly bashful before asking Morgana for a lift to the grocery store or for help with the feminist reading group.

Yes, there was definitely Gwen.

Swearing off wine and women completely hadn't worked the first time, and the way Morgana saw it, she was going to have to take up oenology as a hobby to keep herself busy while seeing a lot more of Gwen this semester in order to try and avoid the inevitable relationship drama and anxiety of Serious Girlfriend #4.

And yet, even the drama and anxiety of having a love life again wasn't enough to diminish the unanticipated wonder of being drawn into something that had the ease of friendship coupled with the sharpness of desire.

*

"So, you never explained to me how you became assistant director of the writing center."

Gwen, who was at the computer in her office, looked up for a second, smiled, then went back to whatever she was typing. "Boring story, trust me. But if you come in and sit down and I'll tell you anyway."

"You don't have any tutees?"

"Not until ten o'clock. Then I have the insane Friday of meetings that should've happened earlier in the week."

Only Gwen could say that and still manage to sound reasonably patient. Or could come onto campus at nine in the morning on a Friday when she normally had no reason to be there and not be completely irritable. Actually, she didn't look irritable at all. A little tired, and maybe a little frustrated, but mostly… Mostly she looked busy, and sort of adorable, in the jeans and tight, black and white stripey top she had on. Non-teacherly clothes, Morgana noted with definite approval.

Unlike Morgana, who'd just finished teaching a few minutes ago and was wearing the black trousers, shirt, and heels she usually wore to class. She lingered in the doorway for a moment and stepped in once Gwen had moved a pile of papers and folders from the extra seat by her desk.

"How was class?"

"All right. I have the gift of response papers to grade. Decent class discussion today, though."

"Doesn't really make up for the grading, though, does it?"

"Not really. So. Boring story." Curled up in the extra chair in Gwen's office, Morgana took off her glasses and pulled her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. "Which probably isn't boring at all."

"No, really, it is. Nobody applied for the position, and Susan, the director, was getting sort of desperate, and asked me if I wanted the job." A few more sentences worth of typing, then a couple clicks of the mouse, and Gwen turned from her computer to Morgana. "Sorry, I was Facebooking."

"And there I thought you were being productive. You just sort of were given the job, then?"

"Mm. Yeah, I guess. I suppose I could've said no, but, it's really good experience, I get paid some extra, and the office is pretty nice. Tiny, but no officemates, and there's a little window."

"Arthur would fight you for the window." It just gave a view of the side entrance to the building, but most grad student offices didn't have windows. Gwen, Morgana noticed, had two tiny plants on the windowsill and a turtle sun catcher that threw green and blue patterns on the dingy grey-blend carpet. "And probably lose, to be honest."

"Arthur," Gwen pointed out, "could've applied for this position if he wanted the little window that badly."

"Could you imagine? It would be like writing center boot camp around here. You know he wants to be a dean someday and unite all the departments under the aegis of Pendragon." Turning away from the window, Morgana smiled. "_Boot camp_. And no little turtle decorations."

"Oh, yeah, that… From my dad." Gwen looked shy for a second before returning the smile and shaking her head. "You'd probably be a better dean than he would. You have that complicated system of stars and checks and squiggles. Multi-colored squiggles."

"Absolutely. The multi-colored squiggles will bring peace and justice to all disciplines."

Morgana reached down to her pile of books and papers on the floor and handed her grade book over to Gwen. "See?"

The grade book received the same sort of scrutiny that most things Morgana handed to Gwen got – things like the IKEA directions, or Morgana's latest and sometimes insane (Morgana preferred 'unique' or 'very focused' as descriptors, but Gwen wasn't to be argued with) research interests – _i.e._, the expression of curiosity crossed with a touch of indulgence. "So, basically, this tells us that the university administration needs to be treated like a first year writing course?"

"Basically."

"Fair enough." This time when Gwen smiled, it was one of her remarkable, full smiles that sent warmth through Morgana like she hadn't felt in ages.

"You have crazy meetings, so lunch is probably out, but … do you want to do something later on?"

"I think that might be good. We've survived what? A whole month already?"

"Which is a genuine accomplishment. Especially since I taught the class of eight a.m. apathy on a Friday morning today."

"You don't mind, really."

"I don't mind," Morgana agreed. She glanced at the window and at the play of stained glass filtered light on the floor again. September would be over soon, and though there was only the barest hint of autumn chill, the leaves were already turning and the scent of the changing season was in the air. "I like your office."

"I like it when you're in my office. You're welcome to stay here and work until my tutoring hours start."

"Oh. Thank you. But, no, I'm meeting Arthur for paper grading and coffee soon." Regret softened Morgana's voice. She did like the quiet and privacy of Gwen's office; Gwen was easy to work with, and none of her own students ever came looking for her here in the Writing Center. "Maybe we can go out for dinner or drinks later on?"

"Yeah. Call me. Really, whenever, I'll check my messages if I'm in a meeting, but I'm free during the afternoon once my three o'clock finishes up."

Morgana waited another moment to feel the breeze from the window skim the back of her neck, then waited after she uncurled from the chair for Gwen to hand back her grade book. Instead of waiting for the brush of fingers, however, Morgana slid her hand up Gwen's arm to rub her shoulder. "Good luck with the tutoring and the meetings. You'll have to tell me all about them later."

And then Gwen leaned into her touch, just barely, but enough that if she waited any longer, if she stayed to keep moving her hand over Gwen's arm and to feel the warm brush of Gwen's fingers over her skin, Morgana would never have left Gwen's office.

*

Feet up on the sofa at the back of the coffee shop, Morgana flicked through the Peter Elbow reading before deciding it was tedious, and watched Arthur grade papers for a few minutes. He was (a) incredibly boring and (b) much too serious about his work, but he wasn't an article on composition pedagogy and he wasn't the spiral of thoughts that kept revolving through Morgana's mind.

"Do you know what?"

"Mm. No. No, I really don't." Arthur glanced at her for a moment before reaching for his coffee and adding a finished essay to the pile in front of him. "Why don't you tell – "

"I'm like the most stoic person ever. I think my patience rivals that of saints and martyrs." Morgana gestured with her article towards the crowd of obvious non-saints and un-martyrs in the coffee shop. "Saints _and_ martyrs."

"Aren't martyrs usually, well, dead? I don't think they have much need for patience at that point."

"Don't be so pedantic. And besides, I might die any second now."

Arthur continued to comment on the paper in front of him until the glare Morgana directed at the back of his head took effect and he finally looked up at her. "Of?"

"Of… Gwen. Gwen induced frustration. Or confusion." Never mind that both the frustration and confusion were self-generated.

"Gwen doesn't induce frustration and you're the one who's causing the confusion here. Besides, I thought you didn't want another girlfriend?" Arthur thought for a moment. "Do you just want to sleep with her?"

"I don't. Not either one of those. I want…" Gwen. The touch of her lips and the sound of her voice and the way she smiled when she smiled easily and without reserve and how she kept notes written on post-its. "You know."

"Actually, no. You do realize I have no idea what you're talking about, right?"

"Of course you don't. You really don't understand women, do you? It's a good thing you're very queer. Of course, sometimes I wonder if you understand people, in which case… you're screwed."

"I don't think I understand you."

"You're a terrible best friend, Arthur. Though, what would you know about love; you're dating the black knight."

"He's just quiet." Arthur fumed for a few seconds, though he did have the decency to leave off his grading and get refills for both their coffees. He even remembered she took hers black, though he felt the need to turn his into a café au lait half the time. "Right. Stoicism?"

"Absolute stoicism. I feel like…" Hands wrapped around the mug of coffee, Morgana tapped her fingers against the warm, smooth surface. "The moment I saw her, I was _done_, you know? And I'm not sure what that means, but I'd like her to notice me noticing her and keep noticing me for a very long time to come."

"Oh, I'm sure she notices you," Arthur replied, voice suddenly quiet and reassuring, and they both settled in to finish both their work and their coffee.

*

Morgana spent the rest of the morning grading her own set of response papers, listening to Arthur bitch about his current boyfriend (Tristan, a true emo post-modernist from the French Department who, according to Arthur, was multilingual non-communicative), and then cleaning the hell out of her apartment well into the afternoon before Gwen was free.

"Look," Morgana said, "I've listened to every Melissa Ferrick cd I own at least three times this afternoon and still can't figure out a way to tell you that I think we ought to stay in for dinner tonight."

The line was quiet for about half a minute and Morgana could imagine the little frown-line of concentration on Gwen's face.

"Oh. That's… which one's your favorite?"

"What?" Apparently, Morgana was non-communicative in one language because the conversation had taken an unpredictable turn.

"Of the Ferrick albums. Which do you like best?"

"_Valentine Heartache_."

"Mine too. I knew you had excellent taste." Gwen paused again. "Staying in tonight sounds really nice. Why don't you order pizza and I'll bring a couple bottles of wine over to your place?"

Anticipation warmed through her insides at this next turn of conversation and Morgana couldn't think of any objection to Gwen's plan. "That'll be fabulous. Come by anytime you like after five."

*

As promised, Gwen arrived with wine just after five o'clock and kicked off her sandals to pad after Morgana into the kitchen. She still had on the adorable stripey top and jeans, and looked a little more fatigued than earlier, but not unhappy. Morgana gave her a quick hug, stomach twisting with a combination of pleasure and nerves, and smiled against Gwen's shoulder when Gwen pulled her closer instead of ending the hug. The warmth of her skin clung to Morgana's senses for a while after, and Gwen's hand moved from her side with a half-muttered apology only when Morgana glanced down at it.

"So, dinner?"

"Yes! I made salad, and we'll have pizza soon, and I got some cookies for dessert from the coffee shop this afternoon."

"Ooh, fancy. It's a good thing I went for the eight instead of six dollar wine."

"You know. You can get a Master of Wine qualification. It's completely non-academic, but entirely prestigious."

"Really?" Leaning against the counter, Gwen took the corkscrew Morgana handed over and opened, then poured, wine into glasses. She didn't pass Morgana a glass right then, but reached up to trace her finger over the strap of Morgana's black tank top.

"Wikipedia taught me that."

"The source of all knowledge?"

"All worldly knowledge." They'd need dishes, silverware, napkins… The list assembled itself at the back of Morgana's mind, but Morgana wasn't listening to it. She wasn't even really listening to Gwen, just mapping her lips and eyelashes and the feel of her fingers. "How were your meetings?"

"Long. And … mostly not productive." Gwen shrugged. "We can wait until after dinner to talk about them, though."

"If you want to talk, I don't mind listening." Except for that part about her having trouble listening when Gwen was touching her like that.

"Maybe later."

Gwen's finger stroked really gently over Morgana's shoulder, almost petting her, and a short, breathless moment was all they had before she leaned in to bring her lips to Morgana's.

What followed was a longer, thought-spinning moment, made up of a warm kiss that went slowly from lips to tongue to bodies angling into each other. Gwen's touch moved from Morgana's shoulder to her neck, her fingers slid into Morgana's hair, and, like she had with the hug, Gwen tugged Morgana closer to draw the first kiss into a second.

"All right. Later," Morgana agreed, kissed Gwen once more, settled Gwen's hand at her hip to continue, and inclined her head to brush her lips along Gwen's jaw. "You're so beautiful."

"So are you. The way you listen to me, the way you touch me, the way your eyes… Just beautiful." The hand at Morgana's hip drew her in and Gwen's thumb slid underneath her shirt to stroke her skin. "I have been wanting you so long."

Morgana, breathless with expectation, could only nod, and sigh, "Gwen," and "I'd been hoping," before another kiss.

Most of the time waiting for the pizza was spent curled up on the living floor, drinking wine and making out. Once dinner arrived, slightly less making out and more talking.

Morgana got the short version of Gwen's meetings with students, Writing Center staff, and the Writing Center's liaison from the ESL program and offered her a disturbingly detailed (Gwen's words, but again, _viz._ 'not to be argued with') list of her students' paper topics and how the freewriting experiment was going for her course. Mostly, though, she listened – for real this time – listened to Gwen talk, listened to her complain and get frustrated, and realized she could spent the rest of the night doing so if it was what Gwen needed.

The first time they had sex, it was on the living room floor, dishes and wine glasses pushed away, clothes half-pushed off, fingers pushing past jeans and underwear, frantic and needy. They were both more than a little drunk, and everything was sort of clumsy, but it was also fabulous. Gwen mouthing her way down Morgana's chest, murmuring kisses through the thin material of her top and nuzzling under the curve of her breast when it made Morgana gasp with sudden pleasure. Gwen, twisting around her fingers and driving Morgana deeper inside her, arching and twisting and breathless-beautiful. And Morgana, so overcome with the desire to know every curve and angle of Gwen's body, licking her tongue, wet and wine-sweet, down Gwen's neck, around the collar and beneath the hem of her shirt, and over the slight swell of her stomach.

The second time was no less frenetic, but there was a lot less clothing involved; they started in the living room, hands and mouths damp with desire, stopped in the hallway, Morgana pushed up against the wall and Gwen's tongue finding new and incredible ways to prevent them from reaching the bedroom.

But once they got there, once Gwen was stretched out on Morgana's bed, her skin heated, her eyes bright with arousal, Morgana could see the whole night collapsing in on itself and over them. Time wasn't passing too quickly now, but elongating in the slow, shimmering patterns of star and street light around their hands, feet, and entwined limbs. Gwen sighed to have Morgana settled between her hips, gasped to have her stroke and curl fingers inside her, already slick and ready for Morgana.

"Stay," Morgana whispered later, when they were tired, satisfied, and close to sleep.

"I hadn't thought of doing anything but." Gwen kissed her hair and Morgana could feel her smile when she nuzzled against Gwen's neck.

*

The next morning, Morgana woke up, decided she might still be uncertain about some things, but was very certain that she'd been right when she'd seen Gwen that first day on campus and had known how very done she was. And now, her body curled up against the curves of Gwen's, her lips murmuring _Guinevere_ against her shoulder and relearning (by heart and touch) how much they loved the shape of the word, she knew she was prepared to discover exactly what done meant.

The next Friday, Morgana brought Gwen flowers, cooked dinner in Gwen's flat, and spent the night. Saturday morning there were pancakes and the slight, panicky feeling that yes, indeed, Morgana was well on her way to wanting Serious Relationship Status with Gwen.

Two weeks later, for fall break, they both drove up to visit Gwen's dad and took a very long walk through the clean, crisp air, Gwen's fingertips hidden by the too-long sleeves of the sweater she'd borrowed from Morgana. Morgana admitted she wasn't sure if she was ready for Gwen to be Serious Girlfriend #4 and Gwen just slid her hand into Morgana's and replied that she didn't fancy being called that anyway and they'd work it out together.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, when campus was still peacefully empty, they took another long walk in the coldest morning so far that fall. The ground had turned hard beneath the layer of leaves that crackled beneath their footsteps; once again the air held the scent of the changing season: dry leaves, packed dirt, and the bitter promise of frost.

At a seat in front of the library, protected from the wind with coats, scarves, and the closeness of each other, they watched a few stray leaves scrape along the sidewalk, only to get caught up in a whirl of chilly air.

When Gwen tangled her fingers with Morgana's and asked if they'd moved from having squiggles to a check mark next to their names put together, Morgana said yes and brought their hands to her lips.

Because she was done worrying if she was ready, or if this togetherness would fit into her life right now, or if Gwen would ever stop noticing her. She was done counting relationships and girlfriends and dramatic anxiety crises.

When Gwen asked if she was done sitting out in the cold and cloudy weather, Morgana said yes, pulled Gwen into her arms, sudden and fierce, and kissed her before the wonder could fade from Gwen's eyes.


End file.
